


Unmarked

by asherranceoftheheart



Series: Jacksepticeye Egos Drabbles [17]
Category: Jacksepticeye Universe, Video Blogging RPF, jacksepticeye
Genre: Angst, Gen, Implications of violence, Sort of Vague description of Violence, slight gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-04-05 06:18:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19042855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asherranceoftheheart/pseuds/asherranceoftheheart
Summary: Can you even still trust your own reflection with your back, Jack?





	Unmarked

Jack shakily trailed his fingers over the unmarked skin of his neck. The constantly bleeding neck wound that had been engraved on it ever since that fateful night stopped sparking up with the pain that he had grown accustomed to for the past month when he woke up.

When he woke up a week after that night with the memory bright and unforgettable in his mind and a stinging neck pain, Henrik grimly told him that no matter what they tried on the wound (magic, medicines, and hell, the doctor even tried to stitch it up only to find it undone when he turned his back on it for a few seconds), it never healed, never stopped oozing blood. The doctor had him go to his office every few hours, every single day to replace the bloodstained bandages and to clean up the wound.

Jack hated it. He hated how everybody faltered in his conversations with them whenever their eyes darted towards his covered throat. He hated how everyone treated him like he was glass—that he was going to break any second now. The extremely careful way they acted around him contributed to his bad mood, alongside the fact that he couldn’t even distract himself with work since the lack of ability to hide his bandaged up throat, even with magic, in his attempts to record something for his channel made it so that he  _ couldn’t _ record shit. Every single time he attempted to physically hide it like with scarves (thank god it’s winter) or high-necked hoodies, the stinging of his wound would act up until he was left gasping on the ground nearly clawing his throat out.

~~**_It was as if He was reminding him that he can’t run away from Him. That He is always there—_ ** ~~

Ever since they found him like that the first time, they forbade him from recording. His Egos agreed that they could stand for him to keep the channel up.

Now he was all alone with his own dark thoughts and worsening moods. He would have tried sleeping if it weren’t for the fact that his dreams wasn’t any better than reality. He calls his nightmares dreams now since it’s more likely for him to dream of a nightmare than to have a peaceful one. Every single attempt of sleep would leave him rewinding back into the past, on that unforgettable Halloween night, finding himself losing control of his body every second until cold steel bit into the skin of his neck, cutting away the strings that he used to control his life as another Puppetmaster curled his strings around His fingers and made him dance to His song.

**He** whispers promises of a slow death into his ears.  **He** coaxes him, encourages him to jump at the slightest shift of the shadows, makes him question himself.  **He** asks him if he could even trust his own reflection with his back.

~~**_They don’t have knives in the house anymore._ ** ~~

He was  **_tired._ ** He wanted to lay his head down and sleep perhaps for ten years. He wanted to  _ give up—  _

This morning he woke up for the first time in weeks to the lack of pain radiating from his neck. When he took off the stained bandages, his tired gaze settled in on the unblemished skin of his throat.

It was as if  _ nothing  _ ever happened.

He wanted to  _ laugh _ . He wanted to  **_scream and cry_ ** .

~~**_A giggle echoed through his mind._ ** ~~

For a second there, he thought he had seen his blue eyes flicker to green.


End file.
